WHO: Annie Rusk (Odair) & Francis (Clint) Barton WHAT: Annie visits her "foster brother" in jail. WHEN: Saturday the 16th WHERE: Storybrooke Sheriff's Department WARNINGS: none, unless you count vague criminal stuff
It was, unfortunately, not Annie’s first trip to the sheriff’s department. Charlie had ended up here multiple times. This was the first time she’d been here for Francis, though. The sound of the policeman’s voice on the other line had terrified her and filled her with dread, half-expecting to hear that someone had died.
Not dead. Imprisoned.
She was uncharacteristically solemn as she approached the desk, and as the deputy led her to Francis’ cell. She moved slowly and deliberately, one hand on her belly, and approached the bars. Her hands went to the cool metal and she looked in at her brother with concern.
“Francis,” she said soberly, looking him over for any sign of injury. “Are you alright?”
--
"Hey there, cupcake." Francis grinned up from his spot on the cot, offering her a little wave like he was flagging her down to sit at a restaurant.
If he was bothered by the fact that he was sitting in a jail cell, it didn't show. Francis Barton had been in a lot of cells in his life, his brother had been in a cell for the past six or seven years. A night in jail was nothing, and he spent more than a few in this very cell cooling off for one incident or another that didn't stick.
"Welcome to my vacation home."
--
He seemed alright. He seemed too comfortable, which bothered Annie almost as much as the opposite would have done. Maybe it was naivete, maybe it was her love for her brother, but she’d always believed better of him. She believed better of Charlie, too, but he had seemed absolutely determined to prove her wrong. Francis was different, but - here he was.
“This is not a vacation,” she said sternly. “You don’t belong in here. I’m--” she paused, looking at her hands instead of at him for a moment. “We’re putting the money together. You’ll be out soon.”
--
Francis blinked, surprised. "Who's 'we', Annie? You and Pete don't have the money. Jess… come on. Jess isn't going to pay bail. Don't do anything silly for me, I don't mind chilling here for a little while."
Upon further inspection, Francis seemed genuinely nervous. It was in the tap of his foot, the way he was fiddling with his hands. He'd spent nights in jail for being drunk and disorderly, or he'd gotten into bar fights, or he'd picked a pocket or two. He'd spent a couple months in jail here or there, but this was big. This was a lot bigger. This was fraud and larceny on a big scale, stuff that would get him more than a few weeks in prison if convicted.
--
“We’ll figure it out,” Annie said stubbornly. She knew what he was saying was true, they didn’t have the money. She didn’t think even their parents had enough; they’d set his bail ridiculously high. But she refused to see another brother sitting in jail. “And then you’re not going to end up back in here, right?”
--
Francis slumped back against the wall. His smile was sort of sad, and he took a moment to adjust his hearing aid. "I don't think I'm going to walk away from this one, cupcake."
He hesitated, but then lifted his hands to sign: There's a lot you don't know about.
--
“What?”
Annie couldn’t help it; she was distressed. She didn’t want him to be in jail. She needed her brother, he was one of the few things in her life that had stayed reassuringly normal in the last few years. She watched him sign, and the unhappiness in her expression only deepened.
She couldn’t ask what it was that he hadn’t told her. Sign language was a secure code in some situations; in a police station full of cameras, it didn’t really matter if there was no one around who spoke it. They could look back at the tapes and get someone to translate it. (That might have been her paranoia talking. But still, it wasn’t worth the risk.)
Lifting her hands, she signed back, a little angrily, And now you only want to tell me because you got caught.
--
Francis huffed and rolled his eyes. Sign language was about so much more than the shapes made with his hands, and his body language became far more expressive when he was signing. No, he said, I don't want to tell you at all for any reason, but there's stuff going on. Stuff I've been doing. Stuff you don't need to know about.
Annie was happy, she had a happy life with her family. She didn't need to get mixed up in his crap or know what he was doing.
--
She wasn’t happy, though. That was the thing. If they’d actually been talking, he might have known that. Annie had thought, multiple times, of going to stay with her brother when things were difficult at home. Maybe she should have, because then they could have talked - not just about her problems, but about his. Maybe she could have stopped him from ending up here.
You should have told me anyway, she signed back. She just looked tired now, resigned. There was too much water in her soul to ever maintain an angry fire for long, and when she felt responsible for this, she could hardly stay angry at him.
Pushing away from the cell, she regarded him sadly. Finally, she said, “Don’t give up just yet. We’ll get you out of here somehow.”
--
Francis sighed. "Yeah, until trial. There's gonna be charges." Then what? he added in sign. "Maybe I'll finally get to hang out with Charlie at the state pen for a while, that'll be fun."
He scratched his face, picking at a band-aid on his cheek. "Under my welcome mat at my apartment, there's a spare key. Go over there. There's, uh. There's some stuff for the baby, some stuff for Meadow. Mox and Cal, too. I was just getting stuff for the baby and then didn't want anyone feeling left out."
--
“No.” Annie said it and signed it at the same time, adding a vehement emphasis to the word. He wasn’t allowed to do this to her. It was too late, of course -- it was already happening -- but that didn’t mean she had to accept it.
She hated it. She already felt stuck, already couldn’t help regretting that her life wasn’t going as planned. They were all meant to be happier, better than this.
Her expression stormy, she signed at him with quick, angry movements. You don’t get to give up, Francis. You messed up. Fix it.
And she turned away before he could sign back, because she didn’t want to hear any argument about it. She didn’t want to talk anymore, at all. The guard down the hall came back to show her out, and she left.